


Fortune

by nlans



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/pseuds/nlans
Summary: A crush from afar turns into something more when a threat to Josephine's life springs Krem into action. For Black Emporium 2018.This is not a pairing I've written before, but I loved it as soon as I saw the tag! I hope you enjoy :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bestie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/gifts).



_He has cut his hair._

It was not a dramatic haircut. Only a very smitten woman, Josephine knew, would have spotted the thin strip of less-tanned skin along the nape of Krem’s neck, especially at this distance. But it was there, and she could not help noticing it.

 _You should be focusing on what is to come in Orlais,_ a little voice scolded her as she walked closer.

 _What harm can there be in a small crush?_ she retorted.

Besides, it was not as if she had only ventured to the training yards to watch Krem spar with The Iron Bull (although yes, she had paid attention to the times of day at which they liked to undertake this particular exercise, and yes, she had on occasion timed her walks accordingly). The Inquisitor had decided that Bull was to be among the party at Halamshiral. Which meant that Josephine had news of her own to deliver.

Krem’s back was to Josephine as she approached, and so it was The Iron Bull who pulled back from their combat and nodded his head. “Ambassador.”

Josephine put on her most unflappable expression as Krem turned around.

She wasn’t sure when she had first noticed Cremesius Aclassi. But she knew it was his smile that had caught her eye; that wry, crooked grin made everything seem not quite so dire for just a moment. He was smiling it right now, at her, and even though she knew he was just being polite Josephine’s heart warmed in response.

“My lady,” he said with a little bow. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I apologize for interrupting. But Bull—I come with some serious news.” She made her expression exaggeratedly solemn. “Inquisitor Adaar has asked that you attend the Halamshiral ball. Which means that Madame de Fer will require your presence at her mandatory dance lessons this evening.”

The Iron Bull blinked at her. Then he pause. Then he blinked again. “Dance lessons,” he repeated.

“It will not be so terrible,” Josephine assured him—though now that she thought about it, Vivienne was likely to be an intimidating instructor. “The Inquisitor herself will take them—as will I, to refresh my steps. You never know when a waltz with the right person may gain us just the advantage we seek.”

The Iron Bull’s remaining eye narrowed thoughtfully. “Huh. All right, I’ll be there. So will Krem.”

Krem’s jaw dropped. “ _What_ did you say there, Chief?”

“You heard me.” Bull clapped an enormous hand on Krem’s shoulder. “If I’m going to Orlais, you’re going too. Which means you need to learn all these Orlesian dances. Right, Ambassador?”

Josephine found herself caught between the knowledge that Krem probably did not need to learn how to dance and clearly didn’t want to, and a very appealing vision of Krem in a formal uniform dancing with her underneath the chandelier at Halamshiral. “I am delighted you will join us in Orlais, Lieutenant Aclassi. But as Madame de Fer only insisted on Bull’s attendance, I will leave the choice of dancing to you.”

“Have I told you lately how much I like you, Ambassador?” Krem asked with a relieved chuckle.

Years of training enabled Josephine not to blush. “You are too kind.” She met Bull’s eye and arched an eyebrow. “I will see you this evening?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” the big Qunari grumbled.

Josephine just barely stopped herself from sneaking several last glances at Krem as she walked away.

 

* * *

 

Krem waited until Josephine was well out of earshot. Then he counted to ten for safety. Then he smacked The Iron Bull with his shield.

“Hey!” the mercenary captain protested, rubbing his arm. “That kinda hurt.”

“Well, what did you do that for?” Krem demanded. “You never told me being second-in-command meant _dance lessons._ ” The last time he’d taken dance lessons was back when his mother was trying to shape him into a wealthy man’s wife. Which was not a memory he tried to relive all that frequently.

“It’s not about the dancing, Krem,” Bull said patiently. “It’s about who you’ll be dancing with. Or did you miss that Josephine said she’d be there?”

Up until this moment, Krem had entertained the ridiculously futile hope that the chief hadn’t noticed his crush. _Should’ve known better._ He looked down at his shield and tried not to frown.

“Don’t be dumb, chief. I don’t see many mercenaries walking arm-in-arm with nobility. Do you?”

“Blackwall landed the Inquisitor, didn’t he?” Bull pointed out.

“That’s different. They’re both soldiers. I’ve heard ‘em in the tavern going on and on about tactics and camping and which smiths make the worst blades. Besides, a Grey Warden’s not a mercenary.” Krem sighed. “Let’s not make this more than it is, all right? So I like Josephine. What’s not to like? She’s pretty, smart, and plays a mean game of Wicked Grace. Half of Skyhold probably likes Josephine.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t get to know her better. Half of Skyhold has nothing on you.” Bull’s eye narrowed in amusement, in the way it did only when he’d just thought of a pun about Krem’s name. Krem braced himself.

“Don’t say it, chief. Whatever it is, don’t …”

“After all, you are the _Krem_ of the crop.” The lone eye twinkled merrily as Krem groaned. “Come on. Take some dance lessons. Josephine will probably be there in a pretty dress, just waiting to be swept off her feet. It’ll be great.”

“Sorry, chief, you’re on your own.”

Krem said those words knowing full well that he was going to show up.

 

* * *

 

To attend the dance lessons, held in an out-of-the-way room in one of Skyhold’s upper floors, Josephine exchanged her starched diplomat’s outfit for one of her favorite day dresses. It was a soft, butter-yellow silk that dipped ever so slightly off her shoulders and offered wonderful freedom of movement. Strictly speaking she did not need the lessons, but Vivienne had asked (or, really, told) her to come anyway, since the novices would need partners who could guide them through the steps.

Josephine didn’t mind. She enjoyed dancing. _Diplomacy through motion,_ a mentor had once called it.

The sounds of a cello playing a waltz greeted Josephine as she pushed open the door. In the middle of the room, Vivienne was already coaching Blackwall and the Inquisitor through their first steps. Blackwall’s expression was dour—he and Vivienne had never gotten along, and Josephine could not imagine the Warden enjoying an Orlesian ball under any circumstances—but Herah Adaar seemed deeply amused by the whole process. The fleet-footed Tal’Vashoth looked as if she was mastering the steps with ease.

“Very good, Inquisitor. Do you know, darling, I think I’ll recommend that you lead. _If_ you insist on dancing with your, ah, paramour at Halamshiral.” Vivienne gave Blackwall a look that should have frozen half his beard with icy disdain. Blackwall merely glowered back.

Inquisitor Adaar smiled. “I do insist. And I like leading.” There was more than a little heat in the wink she gave Blackwall.

“That you do,” the Warden murmured, a smile softening his weathered face.

For a moment Josephine felt like an intruder, but more people soon joined the lessons. Cassandra and Cullen seemed to dread the occasion equally. Leliana and Dorian, on the other hand, looked delighted to be there—Dorian was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. Josephine had no sooner wondered where The Iron Bull was when the door swung open, revealing the massive Qunari warrior.

With his second-in-command by his side.

Krem looked a bit ill at ease as he took the room in—the cellist tapping his foot to keep time, Vivienne directing the proceedings like a general supervising a battle, the Inquisition’s most important people hanging on her every word. When he caught her eye, Josephine tried to smile reassuringly, as if to say that it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Ah. Splendid,” Vivienne said when she spotted the newcomers. “Let’s not waste any time, shall we? Commander, take Leliana’s hand. Seeker Cassandra, you dance with Dorian. Bull, have you waltzed before?” The mercenary shook his head. “You’re with me, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josephine bit back a smile. Only Vivienne could draw that kind of deference from Bull.

“Which leaves the Ambassador and Lieutenant Aclassi,” Vivienne finished. “Splendid. Places, please.”

Josie’s breath caught. And was it her imagination, or was Krem blushing?

“Now then. Face your partner,” Vivienne directed as she and Krem stepped to face one another. “Followers—the shorter partner, generally—place your left hand on your partner’s shoulder.”

Josephine followed the instructions, resting her hand atop Krem’s shoulder. He’d discarded his armor for the occasion, save for a stiff leather jerkin, and she could feel the strength and warmth of his body through the fabric of his roughspun tunic. She tried to look nonchalant.

“Whoever’s leading, fold your left hand around your partner’s right hand, like so.” Vivienne carefully demonstrated the grip on The Iron Bull, nonchalantly flaunting her own advice about the shorter partner following. “Now then. Leaders, wrap your right arm around your partner and rest it against their shoulder blade.”

Krem looked deeply anxious as he followed the directive. Though he tried to maintain a decorous amount of space between them, the hold could not help drawing the two of them together. Josephine had never stood so close to Krem before, and she found herself studying his face, as if to memorize every freckle before the moment ended.

He looked nervous. Josephine tried to think of something to say that would put him at ease.

“This must seem quite dull after the events at Hunter Fell,” she said softly.

Krem looked down at her and blinked, his hazel eyes startled. “You read the reports?”

“Of course.” Josephine only skimmed most of the reports about the Inquisition’s military and spy activities—Maker knew she had enough reading with just the diplomatic papers—but she did have a habit of reading every word about the Chargers. It didn’t hurt that Krem wrote those words himself. “That was a rather mind-bending puzzle, wasn’t it?”

Krem laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Stitches made up all of these charts to check off the possible identities of the Belles. Skinner got so annoyed she said we should kill all five and let the Maker sort them out. Of course, that’s Skinner’s answer to pretty much everything.”

“It sounds like dealing with the Commander,” Josephine said wryly. “He tends to think Inquisition soldiers are the solution to every dilemma.”

“I heard that,” Cullen grumbled as he and Leliana locked hands.

“Not all of us can destroy our enemies with five words and a glove in the wrong place,” Krem told her with a wink.

Josephine laughed a bit sheepishly. “You overheard that?” She wasn’t normally given to such bravado, but strictly speaking, it wasn’t an inaccurate claim.

“Hard not to listen when you talk. You’ve got a nice way with words.”

Not even Josephine could stop a pleased, flattered smile.

“ _I_ _f_ we are done with our conversations,” Vivienne said acidly, the words directed right at Josephine and Krem, “Let us begin.”

Krem and Josephine exchanged a guilty smile before taking the first step in their waltz.


	2. Chapter 2

Krem’s second dance lesson went _much_ better than his first.

In his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t have dared hope that he would spend an evening leading Josephine around a dance floor, laughing at her jokes and hearing her laugh at his. And the pleasure of her company, and her skill as a dancer, somehow made the steps take root in his head. By the end of it he actually could dance a passable waltz.

Not that he actually got to use it at Halamshiral, of course. Josephine was swept away into the formal ball; Krem had more of a “wait in the garden and see if you get to punch anyone suspicious” kind of job. He probably should have taken that as a sign that he and the Ambassador were just too different and to settle from admiring her from a distance.

And yet, when they returned to Skyhold, he couldn’t stop thinking about how to speak to her again.

Unfortunately, that proved no easy task. Josephine had seemed happy and at ease on the journey back to Skyhold. But it seemed that they had no sooner set foot in their home than a crisis emerged—one that sent the Inquisitor flying back to Orlais. Adaar returned quickly but seemed a shadow of herself when she did, and Krem felt as if her advisors were only ever seen springing from building to building looking very worried.

Krem was a pretty good spy, if he said so himself, but information about what was going on was locked down tight; there was no gossip to piece together, no loose lips letting the secret drop. All The Iron Bull would tell him was that it was “a personal thing, don’t worry about it.”

That would have been enough explanation for Krem—if he hadn’t noticed the dark circles growing underneath Josephine’s eyes.

It was pure luck that he noticed the assassins.

He’d come to listen to one of the judgments in the Great Hall—apparently, those Orlesian nutters had actually sent the Duchess to Skyhold in a bloody box. As usual, his eyes followed Josephine as she left the dais. She was headed back to her office, and she looked like she was in a hurry, and worrying about something.

A moment later, a servant began hurrying after her. No, two servants, both following in the Ambassador’s footsteps. Krem barely had time to wonder if the pair had left a task undone when he noticed one of them touching his fingertips to their sleeve.

It was a gesture he knew well. The servant was checking for a hidden blade.

The second he put that together he was running, slipping between the people in the Great Hall, pushing when they would not move fast enough. He thought he shouted a warning; he wasn’t sure.

All he could think was _get to her._

He burst into Josephine’s office half a second after the pair of servants drew their knives. Josephine’s grey eyes were widening in alarm as the fighters drew near.

Krem drew his sword and charged.

He caught the first assassin off-guard and unprepared; she fell to a quick, slashing blow to the throat. The second killer attempted to reach Josephine, but with a roar, Krem reached out seized him by the scruff of the neck. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs and blades, and Krem winced as he felt one of the knives slice him across the shoulder.

 _Not the worst I’ve ever gotten in a knife fight_ , he reminder himself as he punched the man hard across the jaw.

A moment later it was done, the killer’s own knife lodged in his chest, Krem rising and wincing as blood ran down his left arm. Josephine covered her mouth with her hands and gasped.

“You are injured!”

“I’m all right,” he assured her as she pushed him into her visitor’s chair, a padded, high-backed confection that practically swallowed him whole. “Really, for a mercenary a cut like this hardly rates. He didn’t even catch an artery.”

She barely seemed to hear him. “How could I have allowed this to happen? I should have been more careful.” Josephine shook her head, her expression full of unhappiness and self-recrimination.

Krem blinked at her as she pulled a clean handkerchief from one of her pockets and pressed it to his injury. “Two servants just tried to kill you. And … you don’t seem that surprised.”

The Ambassador’s shoulders sagged. “I am not,” she admitted with a sigh. “There is a matter I have been attempting to deal with. But things in Orlais move slowly, and … bah.” Her mouth pressed together in a thin, anxious line. “I should not trouble you with this.”

“Nah. Go ahead. You’ve got to trouble _somebody_ ,” Krem pointed out. “Can you imagine if these two had succeeded? Sister Nightingale and the Commander would be running our diplomacy. There’d be poisonings and soldiers from here to Minrathous.”

Josephine chuckled. It was a thin, slightly nervous chuckle, but Krem would take it under the circumstances. “I have not even thanked you, have I?” Her gaze met his. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

Krem swallowed. “Really, Ambassador. Don’t mention it. The sword-swinging and punching is kind of what the Chargers are here for.” He cleared his throat, unable to look away from those luminous grey eyes. “So. Who are these assho—er, assassins, anyway?”

“They are from an Orlesian guild called the House of Repose.” Josephine scowled as her white handkerchief turned red. “The rest, I will tell you when we reach the healers.”

 

* * *

 

It would have been very romantic in one of Varric’s stories. A noblewoman threatened by an ancient contract on her life; the handsome soldier she admired from afar appearing out of nowhere to foil the assassins.

But the idea that Krem could have been hurt because of her family’s preposterously tangled trading future was decidedly _un_ romantic. _Is there no end to the trouble this has caused?_

Krem had insisted that they go to the tavern to see Stiches about his injury—“he gets cranky if anyone else gets to sew one of us up” had been the explanation. Stitches did not seem particularly alarmed, happily; he just pulled Krem and Josephine into a quiet back room where he could work in peace and began cleaning the cut. He also didn’t seem terribly impressed that Krem had taken down two assassins by himself. Josephine got the impression that winning a two-on-one battle was not a remarkable occurrence for a member of the Chargers—or, more specifically, for Krem.

When the healer left the room, Josephine cleared her throat and tried to think of how to explain. “I have been attempting to restore my family’s right to trade in Orlais,” she began. Her eyes shifted anxiously to the bandage on Krem’s arm, waiting to see if it would soak through with blood, but it seemed to be holding. She refocused on her story. _He deserves to understand what happened._ “My family is deep in debt. My brothers and sister look to me to secure our fortunes, and their futures.”

Oh, Maker, how foolish she must sound to Krem of all people—to someone who had known real hardship. But he wasn’t sneering or rolling his eyes. Instead, he smiled a bit. “So people are out to kill you because you’re a good sister?”

Josephine let out a wobbly laugh. “That is one way to look at it. Apparently there is a centuries-old contract in the House of Repose’s vault, awarded to the noble house of Du Paraquette, stating that the House of Repose will do whatever is necessary to prevent the restoration of the Montilyet trading rights. The Du Paraquettes are no longer noble, and their descendents care little for my family’s trading business—but the contract was made and it stands. The Guild’s reputation rests on fulfilling every assignment it accepts. Even, it seems, the very old ones.”

Krem scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Maker. That’s a mess. Does the Inquisitor know?”

“She does. In fact, she came with me on some crucial early investigations.” Josephine bit her lip. “But this matter does not exactly command her attention at the moment. Nor should it. I assured her I would take care of the matter, and I will. I would prefer that she not know what occurred today. She has enough to worry her.”

That was more than she’d intended to tell Krem. She trusted him, of course. But the revelation that Warden Blackwall was not the man he claimed to be—that he was, in fact, a wanted murderer named Thom Rainier who had assumed Blackwall’s identity after the latter’s death—was not her secret to share. The false Warden would return to Skyhold later that week, and Josephine knew that the thought of seeing him again tore at the Inquisitor. She could not bear to add to Herah’s burdens at the moment.

Krem’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “Look, I can tell that something serious is going on. But I’m pretty sure the Inquisitor would want to know that your assassins have stepped up their efforts,” he pointed out. “At least tell Sister Nightingale. She was a bard, right? She’ll have a plan.”

“Oh yes, Leliana has a plan,” Josephine said wryly. “It involves sending people under cover of night, risking their lives to destroy that contract. But I want no more blood shed over this matter.” She drew an unsteady breath. “If something were to happen to the people send to retrieve that document … I could not bear it. I need only a little more time.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Restore the Du Paraquettes to the nobility, thus giving them the right to annul the contract,” Josephine said promptly. “I have found a Countess willing to sponsor them—if we find news of her lover, a mage named Ellerly who vanished after the Conclave.”

Krem winced. “The words ‘vanished’ and ‘Conclave’ don’t sound promising when you put them together.”

“I know,” Josephine admitted. “But I must try. I need only to find people to do it, if anyone can be spared.”

She realized, then, that she was clutching her hands together so hard that her knuckles were white. She forced them to relax.

“In the meantime, I will accept Leliana’s offer of more guards,” she said breezily, aiming for an unworried tone. “I would not wish you to have to run to my rescue again.”

In spite of everything that seemed to be going wrong of late, Krem’s smile made her heart skip a beat. “Just call for me, my Lady, and I’ll run as fast as you need.”

Those words—so casually gallant and brave—almost made this ghastly afternoon seem worth it.

 

* * *

 

“Chief, I need a favor.”

Krem had been thinking about this all afternoon. It was a stupid idea. Really, really stupid. But … he couldn’t get it out of his head. And now that the chief had joined the rest of the Chargers in the tavern, it seemed like the right time to ask.

The Iron Bull arched an eyebrow over his tankard. “Oh boy. This should be good,” he replied, correctly interpreting Krem’s hesitant tone.

“You know someone’s been trying to kill the Ambassador?”

The Iron Bull sat up a bit straighter. “Really? Good for her. Must mean she’s doing something right.”

“I don’t think she sees it that way, chief,” Krem said wryly. “Anyway. She’s got a plan to make it stop and she needs this mage named Ellery to get it done. I think you should send the Chargers to find him. We’ve barely been out of Skyhold since that whole thing on the Storm Coast, except to go to Orlais. Dalish is so bored she almost admitted she’s a mage.”

The mention of the Storm Coast put a weird expression on Bull’s face. They hadn’t talked much about what happened, but Krem was starting to get a pretty good idea of just how close the Chargers had come to serious damage the day the Qunari alliance fell apart. He figured that was why the Chargers hadn’t been sent out on many missions since then. The chief actually seemed … kind of worried. Like he didn’t want to put them in harm’s way again.

“It’s a good thought,” the chief said finally. “Can’t keep you all cooped up on our mountain, you’ll get rusty and lazy. And I like the Ambassador. Hate to see her catch an assassin’s knife.” He took a long drink from his tankard. “Mission’s yours if you want it, Krem.”

The Chargers were out of Skyhold’s gate at dawn the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

It took the Chargers a solid week to track down the missing mage; he had fallen victim to an infected wound and been delirious for weeks. Stitches and Dalish put their talents together to fix the wound, and soon he was well enough for the Chargers to bring to Countesse Dionne in Val Royeaux. 

Then Leliana sent word that Josephine needed a favor from a Judge. Specifically, Judge Auld, who wanted a company of soldiers to accompany him on a quest to hunt giant spiders in the Frostback Mountains. The Chargers started a betting pool about whether the spiders were real, or something the energetic Judge had invented after reading too many of Varric’s novels.

They were real. And apparently naturalists knew them not as “giant spiders,” but as “screaming man-eaters.” Krem might have felt guilty about dragging the Chargers along to fight the damn things if they didn’t have so much fun doing it. The only one who seemed grumpy about the outing was Stitches, who had to patch them all up when it was over.

“Finally, a real fight,” Dalish said, beaming with satisfaction as Stitches smeared a cream salve over an acid burn on her right arm. “Got any more hideous beasties for us to fight, Krem?”

*

When they returned to Skyhold, the entire place was blazing with scandal.

Blackwall’s true identity was the topic on everyone’s lips at the Herald’s Rest. The Iron Bull filled them in over their first welcome-home round. “They were hoping it wouldn’t get out, but … yeah. He put on a pretty public show at that execution in Orlais. Not even Red could keep a lid on that.”

Krem winced. No wonder Josephine had looked so anxious all those weeks ago. It was just like her not to want to bother the Inquisitor during that kind of disaster.

“Any news on the Ambassador’s problems?” Krem asked casually.

Skinner’s snort told him that he hadn’t been all that casual. 

“She and the Inquisitor are headed out tomorrow to wrap up some loose ends in Orlais. And that reminds me.” Bull’s single eye lit up wickedly. “She asked if I’d send you her way when you got back. Said she had some questions about your report from the Frostbacks.”

*

Krem climbed the steps into the main hall and wound his way to the Ambassador’s office with his heart pounding.  _ She probably just wants to ask how things went with the Judge. _

_ Or she wants to ask you what the hell you think you’re doing.  _ Someone as smart as Josephine could probably figure out why he was running across Thedas doing favors for her. She probably wanted to put a stop to any ideas he had about actually courting her. A Tevinter mercenary in the wrong body with the Inquisition’s exquisite chief diplomat? Not in this lifetime.

_ She’ll let me down easy _ , he told himself. Josephine would never deliver that kind of message brusquely or cruelly. But that thought didn’t make it any easier to knock on her door.

“Come in!”

Krem pushed open the door. “Ambassador?”

“Lieutenant Aclassi!”

Josephine looked up from behind her desk as Krem entered. He was pleased to see a silver-armored guard standing at attention to one side; Sister Nightingale had had her way about that, at least. 

Josephine’s eyes followed his. “Private Loren. Would you give myself and the Lieutenant a moment, please? This concerns a rather sensitive recent mission.”

Josephine let out a quiet breath as the door closed behind Private Loren. Her grey eyes turned to Krem; her fingers twisted a pen between them. She looked down and seemed startled to see it, then set it down firmly.

“I understand I have the Chargers—that I have  _ you  _ to thank for Judge Auld’s hunting trip, and for Ellery’s rescue.”

Krem shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. “We’d been cooped up in Skyhold too long. Thankfully the chief saw it my way and agreed to let us go.”

“The Inquisitions has many missions,” Josephine pointed out. “Most of them are far more crucial than a favor for minor Antivan nobility.” She stood up and began to walk around her desk, her eyes locked on his. “You must tell me, Krem. Why take such risks for my family?”

“I. Um.” Krem swallowed hard.

He wanted to say that it was strategic—that the chief had deemed the Ambassador too important to the Inquisition’s success. But as he looked into Josephine’s gentle, lovely face, he could not imagine lying to this woman. 

_ Spit it out, you bloody coward. _

“I like you,” he blurted. “A lot. Enough to hunt spiders in the Frostbacks, apparently. But I don’t—I want you to know I don’t expect anything. Probably wouldn’t have said anything about it until you asked.”

Josephine pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Despite how awkward he felt, Krem couldn’t help notice how lush and pink that mouth was.

“I had no idea you thought that way about me,” she murmured. “I feel quite foolish now. Because I—I have been having rather similar thoughts about you.”

Krem’s jaw dropped. “You … you have?” he repeated.

“You did quite literally leap to my rescue and take a sword for me. Very few women would remain unmoved after that,” Josephine said, a light twinkle in her eye. “But I had been thinking of you even before then. Did you truly never notice the number of times I just happened to wander by the practice yard when you and Bull were sparring?”

Krem had noticed, but … “I thought you were just out for a walk.” He laughed. “All right, now I’m the one who feels foolish.” He grinned at her. “How much time do you think we’ve wasted, then?”

“Too much,” said Josephine feelingly. “Far, far too much.”

She took one step closer; so did Krem. Those steps brought them close enough to kiss—and so Krem bent his head and lowered his mouth to hers. Josephine wrapped her arms around his neck and melted against him, her curves fitting deliciously into his arms.

Krem hadn’t had many perfect moments in his life. But this one—this one was worth waiting for, and then some.

 

* * *

 

The next weeks of Josephine’s life were utterly blissful.

With the Du Paraquettes elevated and the House of Repose’s threat gone, she could sleep soundly at night once again. That would have been enough. But the revelation that it had been Krem who set events in motion, and that he had been admiring her from afar himself, was more fortune than she could ever have imagined.

They were each something of a stranger to the other’s world, so the courtship began in private, in stolen moments in front of a fire or on Josephine’s balcony. Then Leliana noticed the flowers appearing in her office and Josephine could not resist sharing her news. Since Krem did not suddenly and mysteriously vanish from Skyhold, Josephine assumed her friend approved.

After a few days, Krem invited her to drink with the Chargers. He seemed uncertain, as if he almost wished she might turn it down, but Josephine accepted with pleasure. They were good friends, the Chargers. They let her win the first few rounds of Wicked Grace—a way to welcome Krem’s fancy new lady friend and put her at ease. That, of course, meant that Josephine was all the more ahead when they started playing for real.

“You could’ve  _ warned _ us,” Skinner hissed in Krem’s ear as Josephine pulled yet another pot towards her seat.

“Eh. I like watching her work.” Krem’s eyes twinkled across the table. Josephine blushed.

All too soon, however, the Chargers were called away from Skyhold again, this time to persuade a group of Orlesian mercenaries to leave employers planning a rebellion. Josephine followed their progress closely from Skyhold, leaning on the noblemen as Krem worked on the soldiers, and sent perhaps more letters to the Chargers than the mission strictly required.

Krem wrote back to every one. Josephine grew used to finding one of his missives at the top of her correspondence every morning, and she began to greet her mail with a smile instead of a sigh.

And then one morning, the letter at the top of her pile was not from Krem. It was from her parents.

> _ Dearest Josephine, _
> 
> _ We are so terribly pleased with the splendid work your Inquisition did in restoring our Orlesian trading rights. We hope you know how grateful we are for your efforts, and how diligently your brothers are working to restore the family fortunes. _
> 
> _ And we have already found success. Our elevated trading status and your own position with the Inquisition have made a match with the Montilyets a most desirable prize.  _
> 
> _ Do you remember Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto? We were friendly with his family when you were children, and they wish to renew the connection. We are certain you will be pleased to learn that Lord Otranto has asked for our permission to marry you, and we have granted it. _
> 
> _ Congratulations on your engagement, darling. And do not worry—we will postpone the necessary arrangements until your Inquisition can spare you from your duties. _
> 
> _ Love, Mother and Father _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because all Josephine romances are legally required to include a duel.

“So? How’s your lady?” The Iron Bull asked when Krem rejoined the Chargers at The Herald’s Rest.

Krem felt his knees fold beneath him; he hit the chair with a _thump._ “Um. Engaged. To someone who’s not me.” The words made his stomach feel sick.

Stitches’ mouth fell open. Dalish actually gasped in horror. “She did _what_ now?”

“That’s it. Let me at her,” Skinner hissed, her eyes narrowing. “I _knew_ she was just pretending to be that nice.”

“It’s not her fault,” Krem protested. “Her parents arranged it. She’s going to sort it out. But … she says we can’t see much of each other until she does. It might blow back on her family if it gets around that she’s got someone else, and things were just starting to go their way.” Someone pressed a tankard of ale into his hand; he drank from it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“What’re you going to do?” the chief asked, leaning back in his chair with an eyebrow raised.

“Dunno. Find more missions and get out of Skyhold again, so I don’t accidentally ruin her reputation?” That seemed like the kindest thing for both of them, honestly. Josephine had been near tears when she’d told Krem the news, and he hadn’t been much better off. The idea of seeing her from a distance every day and not being able to talk to her or kiss her was downright lousy.

Krem took another, longer drink from his tankard. “Or I might get very drunk. Yeah. I think that’s my short-term plan. Lots of drinking.”

But the expression on The Iron Bull’s face made him set his ale aside. “I know that look. You know something, don’t you?”

“What look?” Bull protested innocently. “I _always_ know something.”

“ _Chief._ ”

“All right, all right. Here it is.” Bull leaned forward, his massive forearms resting on his thighs. “There’s an easy way to break an Antivan engagement with no embarrassment to the Ambassador’s family. Challenge her fiancé to a duel.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t _quite_ as easy as winning a swordfight, of course. If that was all there was to it, Krem wouldn’t have lost any sleep—he wasn’t overconfident about his abilities, but he liked his chances against a nobleman who’d never seen real combat.

But first he had to decide whether to tell Josephine. At first he assumed that winning the duel would mean that Josephine had to marry him instead of Otranto, and that was _definitely_ something he’d want to clear with her first. But the chief assured him that he was just breaking the old engagement, not creating a new one.

So Krem decided to keep the plan to himself. He didn’t entirely understand all of the rules about what Josephine could and could not do during her engagement, but he was willing to bet that if she wasn’t even allowed to be alone with him, she probably also wasn’t allowed to encourage him to fight her fiancé.

Then he had to write the letter to Lord Otranto. It had to contain the correct phrases, in the right order, with enough insults to provoke but not enough to make him seem vulgar and beneath Lord Otranto’s notice. Fortunately, Varric was more than happy to help.

Then he learned that Antivan and Orlesian duels were fought almost exclusively with rapiers. Which Krem thought were stupid, useless weapons—no one in their right mind walked into battle carrying a rapier. But they moved fast and could be dangerous in the right hands, which meant he needed to learn how to use one.

When Krem thought of fast-moving weapons, he thought of Herah Adaar. The next time she said hello in the tavern he got up the courage to ask her if she could teach him.

She frowned. “I’d love to help. But I don’t know much about Orlesian-style dueling.” Her lips pressed together. “I think I know someone who does, though.”

An hour later, Krem was standing opposite Blackwall in the training yard. The fake Warden looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much lately; there were dark circles under his eyes, and he’d lost weight. He eyed Krem up and down, and Krem steeled himself—that kind of look usually came right before some comment about whether he was really a man, and Maker’s fucking balls, he was _not_ in the mood right now.

But Blackwall merely said, “You’ll want to lose the armor. You need speed in a duel, and the weight will slow you down.”

Krem just barely held back an ugly grimace. He didn’t feel like himself out of armor; the metal plates shaped his body in a way he liked, made him less conscious of the parts that didn’t match the person. “I’ll get rid of the legs and the shoulders,” he allowed. “The chestplate stays.”

He expected Blackwall to argue, but the other man just shrugged.

Once he’d stripped free of his greaves and armored shoulders, Blackwall tossed him a rapier. Krem caught the hilt. The stupid thing felt like a toy in his hand. _How do you even swing something like this?_

“So. Lady Josephine has a fiancé,” Blackwall said, watching his face as he glowered at the rapier.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna hurt him,” Krem added hastily. “I just—she doesn’t want to marry him. And all the other ways to break her engagement look bad for the Montilyets. It would kill her if turning down Otranto hurt her family’s reputation. She worries about them.”

Blackwall’s eyes held decades of regret. “You’re a good man, Lieutenant,” he said gruffly. “I’d be honored to help.”

The lessons were harder than Krem had expected. All of the instincts he had from wielding a longsword—an _actual_ sword, his brain insisted—were wrong with the rapier. He had to stab rather than swing, parrying was completely different, and the most important thing was to keep his feet constantly in motion rather than planting them for strength. But Blackwall was a good teacher, and step by step, he got the hang of it.

After the lesson, walking back to the Herald’s Rest, he spotted Blackwall and the Inquisitor walking alongside each other, and saw Herah slide a tentative hand into the crook of Blackwall’s elbow. This morning he would have said Blackwall didn’t deserve a second chance, but now, Krem felt quietly glad that he was getting one anyway.

A week later, the letter he’d been waiting for came.

> _Lieutenant Aclassi—  
> _ _I accept your request for a duel for the affection of Lady Josephine Montilyet. I await your pleasure in Val Royeaux.  
> _ _Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto_

 

* * *

 

The day of the duel dawned hot and bright. That wasn’t the best news for Krem’s usual armor, but he wasn’t about to fight Lord Otranto in nothing but his shirtsleeves. He tied on his lightest chestplate—stiff leather, with enough shape to make him feel like himself—and went through a series of stretches in his room, loosening his muscles, practicing the footwork Blackwall had taught him.

“You’ve gotta put on a show, Krem Brulee,” The Iron Bull warned him as they walked to the appointed location. “You can’t beat him too easy. If you embarrass him, he might refuse to honor the terms of your duel. He’ll say you cheated or something.”

“Blackwall said the same thing.” Krem rolled his shoulders backward and forward, trying to imagine the feel of the rapier in his hand, the way he would move his elbow to strike or parry. He frowned; the idea that he’d have to treat this guy like an equal swordsman rankled his pride. _Well, the point isn’t to look good,_ he reminded himself.

_The point is Josephine._

With that thought ringing in his head, he turned the corner to the small square Otranto had chosen for the battle.

A crowd had already assembled, so it was a moment before Krem got a good look at Josephine’s fiancé. He was a reasonably handsome man, Krem had to admit, and he wore the kind of expensive clothes Krem was used to seeing on the courtiers who came to Skyhold to seek the Inquisition’s favor. He also had broad shoulders that suggested regular physical exertion. Krem felt his jaw tense. _He’s probably not terrible with a rapier._

A hush fell over the crowd as the two of them locked eyes.

Otranto raised a fist to his chest in something of a salute. “I am Lord Otranto of Antiva, rightfully betrothed of Lady Josephine Montilyet. And you, I presume, are Lieutenant Aclassi?”

Krem nodded, returning the salute. “Well met, Lord Otranto.”

The nobleman turned away as if he had not heard Krem’s reply, reaching for something in the hands of a pair of nearby servants. When he turned back, he held a rapier in each hand.

“Under ordinary circumstances, of course, I would never have accepted a challenge from someone of your … station in life.” He cast a sneering eye up and down Krem’s battle-scarred leathers. “Do not misunderstand, I do not judge my fiancé for indulging in an affair of convenience. But you clearly hope she will take up with you again. I felt it would be a kindness to rid you of that notion.”

“You practice that speech?” Krem snarked. But even though he knew Otranto was being deliberately cruel, that he wanted to wound Krem’s pride, hearing those things said aloud stung. He knew how his relationship with Josephine must look to her peers in the nobility—like a fine lady having a bit of fun with a mercenary, an affair with a ruffian that she could discard with ease and no regret.

_It’s not about what they think. It’s about Josephine._

Otranto tossed one of the rapiers into the air. It was a clumsy toss, meant to fly too low for Krem to catch. He bent and caught it anyway, twirling the rapier’s hilt around his hand the way Blackwall had shown him.

Otranto raised an eyebrow. “I trust you find the weapon to your satisfaction?”

“Bit of a stretch to call it a weapon,” Krem snorted. “Word of advice? Don’t go into battle with one of these.”

“I will leave that sort of vulgarity to you.” With a fierce, almost happy smile, Otranto raised his sword. “Let us begin.”

The nobleman was clearly practiced with a rapier; he would not be an easy opponent to beat. And yet, within the first minute of crossing swords with the man, Krem knew that he would win. Otranto was showing off for the crowd, dancing and jabbing, daring Krem to lose his temper and charge. Krem breathed deep and parried, counterattacking when it seemed appropriate, biding his time. _Got to put on a show._

“At this juncture, I would normally say something insulting about your family or background.” Otranto parried Krem’s next jab. “But do you know, I could not learn anything about you, save that you are a mercenary?” He chuckled. “Has it not occurred to you that Lady Montilyet is embarrassingly far above your station, Lieutenant? You are, quite literally, a nobody.”

“That’s her concern, not yours.” Krem swatted away Otranto’s counterattack with ease. “I don’t have any insults either. Didn’t bother to look you up. All I need to know is that you’re someone she doesn’t want to marry.”

Otranto’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Krem took the moment to go on the offensive, pressing the advantage, putting Otranto on his back foot. He was three strikes away from having his blade at Otranto’s throat when a familiar voice rang over the courtyard.

_“Stop!”_

 

* * *

 

It had taken Josephine only a little effort to find out why in the Maker’s name the Chargers had been dispatched to Val Royeaux. She knew questioning Leliana was futile, of course, but Cullen—Cullen was another matter.

“I. Ah. Um.” The commander rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m not supposed to—that is to say, it is a sensitive—”

“ _Commander Cullen._ ” Josephine drew herself up to her full height. “If it is indeed a sensitive matter, I should have been informed immediately. Or do you doubt my ability to handle any diplomatic issues with Orlais?”

“What? No! Of course I don’t! I … All right, all right. Something about Krem dueling someone.” Cullen shrugged, a guilty grimace on his handsome face. “I decided not to ask.”

Josephine could feel the blood drain from her face.

_No. He did not._

A memory of Krem leaping to her defense, putting himself between her and the House of Repose, flashed through her mind.

 _Braska_. _Of course he did._

Josephine was on a boat to Val Royeaux by sunset.

It took her time—too much time, a frustrating and unreasonable amount of time—to learn where the duel was going to be held. But Lord Otranto’s upcoming duel was fortunately a topic of conversation among the Antivans in Val Royeaux, and it could not be hidden from someone as well-connected as Josephine forever. She only had to call in two minor favors to learn the time and place.

Unfortunately, the note she finally received informed her that while the place was nearby, the time was nearly a half hour past.

She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, not caring that her slippers would blister her feet or that she would arrive sweaty and disheveled. There was a knot of people in the square her contact had mentioned and she threw herself into it, sliding through the crowd, shoving the last two men aside.

There, in the center of the square, stood Krem, rapier in hand, crossing swords with her fiancé. The two of them were going back and forth in an elegant, deadly ballet; Otranto charged, Krem parried, the motion reversed.

She had every faith in Krem's swordsmanship. But the sight of steel slashing at his face, and the knowledge that he was only there in danger because of her, was too much for her to take.

“ _Stop!_ ”

Krem froze the moment he heard her voice. His skin paled and his jaw dropped. “Josephine!”

Otranto turned to her and offered a courtly bow of his head. “Lady Montilyet! What a pleasure to—”

Josephine walked past him. She would be courteous later. Right now she had to strangle Krem.

“What are you _doing_?” she demanded, advancing on her mercenary, daring him to look away.

“I. Um. The chief said this was pretty much the only way to break the engagement without hurting your family. And so …” Krem shrugged and made a vague gesture with the rapier. “Here I am?”

“And so you throw yourself into danger yet again, without even asking me?” Josephine felt her fury rise. “Have you even fought with a rapier before?”

“Blackwall taught me—”

“Blackwall? _Blackwall_ encouraged this?” _As if I did not already have more than enough reasons to kill that man._ “How _could_ you? What if you had been hurt? What if you had been killed? Why risk your life for—for pride?”

“It’s not about pride!” Krem shouted. “It’s about _you,_ Josephine. I couldn’t stand the idea of walking around Skyhold and seeing you from a distance and knowing I couldn’t even talk to you. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do and I’m sorry if it was but _I love you, Josephine_.”

Josephine raised a hand to her mouth. She was rarely at a loss for words—a desirable quality in a diplomat—but she found herself nearly mute. She took in the raw emotion on Krem’s face, the worry and the determination and the hope as he looked at her.

“You—you do?” she gasped.

He nodded.

Tears began forming at the corners of her eyes. “I love you too,” she said softly.

She did not entirely mean to run into his arms—there was propriety to consider, and her fiancé _was_ standing right there—but what else was she to do, really? She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Krem dropped the rapier and held her close, kissing her back with a longing that told her these past weeks had been just as torturous for him as they had been for her.

When they broke the kiss, the _hiss_ of a sword against a scabbard caught her attention.

“Well fought,” Lord Otranto said softly, looking between them.

Josephine swallowed. “Lord Otranto—”

“I am not fool enough to stand in the way of true affection.” The nobleman’s handsome face glowed with unexpected kindness as he bowed his head to her. “The Otrantos regretfully withdraw the terms of our betrothal.”

Josephine inclined her head, closing her eyes gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me.” His eyes looked to Krem and, wonder of wonders, he smiled. “I know when I’m outmatched.”

“Well fought, my lord,” Krem replied, echoing the other man's words. His hand slid into Josephine’s and squeezed it as Otranto walked away.

“I … am not quite sure what just happened,” he murmured quietly. “But I think I won?”

Josephine laughed. “I believe the outcome will be described as a draw, I am afraid. I hope that will not wound your soldier’s pride?”

“Nah. If he’s not your fiancé anymore, I got what I came for.” Krem’s smile was bright and brilliant as he touched her face—tenderly, almost delicately, as if he was worried she might vanish from his sight.

And then she was back in his arms and they were kissing once more, in broad daylight for all of Val Rouyeaux to see.


End file.
